Winter in the Scottish Highlands arrived earlier than the calendar suggested.
Overnight, the castle windows filled with intricate frost patterns, and the wind rushing through the corridors stung the faces of passing students.
Inside the Great Hall, breakfast was unusually quiet.
Instead of the usual noise and laughter, there was only the clatter of utensils and the sound of people slurping hot drinks.
Students wrapped themselves tightly in heavy cloaks.
Even the normally energetic Weasley twins had hunched shoulders, as if trying to bury themselves in their bowls of steaming porridge.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered while spreading butter onto a piece of bread. The butter was so hard it might as well have been stone.
"Can't the school turn the temperature up? I swear my toes have run away from home."
Harry wasn't much better.
He clutched a mug of hot pumpkin juice, and his glasses were fogged white.
Lucian looked up toward the floating candles above the Great Hall. Small flakes of ice were occasionally dropping from them.
'The castle's temperature regulation system is the real disaster.'
His inner sight opened.
The magical circuits of the entire hall spread before him. The system that should have been providing heat was largely dormant.
The cause was absurdly simple.
Beneath the foundation, a magical transfer valve had been blocked by a hibernating badger.
The obstruction caused the heat flow to reverse, sending all of the warmth down toward the kitchens.
'House-elves cooking in a sauna while wizards freeze in the dining hall.'
Lucian moved a single thought.
The unfortunate badger was gently nudged aside. The valve loosened.
A dull vibration passed through the magical network.
Warm air surged up through the floor seams, and the temperature in the Great Hall rose within seconds. Students looked up in surprise as relief spread through the room.
"Merlin's beard! That's perfect timing!" Ron exclaimed happily as he stretched his stiff limbs.
Lucian ignored the reaction around him and calmly ate the boiled egg he had just peeled.
...
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together.
From the outside, they looked like the perfect trio, the result of shared danger and heroic bonding.
Ron animatedly explained Quidditch tactics while waving his fork. Harry added comments now and then. Hermione smiled politely and listened.
Warm. Friendly.
But in Lucian's vision, countless golden threads descended from nowhere, manipulating their expressions like puppet strings.
Hermione had the most threads attached to her.
Those threads were aggressively attempting to overwrite the incorrect memory she had formed the night before.
The will of the world seemed to roar through them.
Smile. Be grateful. These are your saviors.
But Hermione's smile was strained. Her left hand was hidden under the table, gripping the handkerchief tightly.
She was acting.
"Impressive," Lucian murmured while sipping his coffee.
"If you can't fight the script, pretend to obey it while searching backstage for the scissors. Miss Granger, you continue to exceed expectations."
At that moment, a large flock of owls swept into the Great Hall.
Harry received his Nimbus Two Thousand exactly as expected. Neville received a pile of packages, including a box of Chocolate Frogs.
"I don't collect the cards," Neville said, handing one to Harry. "Do you want it?"
Harry took it and glanced down.
From Lucian's perspective, the light itself seemed to converge on the card, practically shouting for attention.
Look here. This is the clue.
"Nicolas Flamel," Harry read aloud. He frowned. "I've heard that name somewhere before."
"Who?" Ron asked through a mouthful of bread.
"I saw it on the train!" Harry pointed to the back of the card. It was part of Dumbledore's description. "His work in alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel—"
"Hey! He disappeared!"
Hermione leaned closer and read the name.
If Hermione had been completely corrected by the script, she would have immediately said that they needed to investigate.
Instead, she instinctively looked up toward the Ravenclaw table.
She was seeking confirmation.
Lucian did not respond. He simply turned a page in his book.
Hermione lowered her gaze again.
"If he worked with Dumbledore on alchemy, he must be important," she said to Harry. "We could check the library. Maybe something about the history of modern alchemy."
She gave the suggestion, but without enthusiasm.
....
Later that afternoon, the castle courtyard was swept by cold wind and falling leaves.
Harry held his Nimbus Two Thousand, preparing for another round of Quidditch practice.
The Gryffindor match against Slytherin was approaching quickly, and Oliver Wood had become borderline obsessive.
"Have you noticed something strange about Snape lately?" Ron whispered. "He's been limping."
"It must be from Halloween," Harry said confidently. "The troll was a distraction. He was trying to get into the third-floor room. Fluffy probably bit him."
"Who's Fluffy?"
"The three-headed dog. Hagrid told me."
As they talked, a black-robed figure appeared around the corner.
Snape.
He was indeed limping, his expression dark with pain.
Harry and Ron fell silent immediately.
Snape stopped in front of them and spoke with cold contempt.
"Potter. Holding a broom while your head is full of straw. If you showed half this enthusiasm in Potions class, perhaps your cauldron would stop exploding."
"Professor, insulting students for emotional compensation does not suit Slytherin."
A calm voice interrupted.
Snape turned sharply.
Lucian leaned casually against a stone pillar nearby.
"Ashford," Snape said quietly. "Are you eager for detention as well?"
"I was merely passing by," Lucian replied. "And observing an injury."
He stepped forward and glanced at Snape's left leg.
Through layers of robes and fabric, his perception reached the wound beneath.
The flesh had been torn open by a deep bite. Dark green magical residue lingered around it.
"The saliva of a three-headed dog contains an anticoagulant and a mild psychic toxin," Lucian said calmly.
"Without proper treatment the wound will continue to deteriorate.
Essence of dittany can stop the bleeding but cannot remove the toxin. Add one-third ounce of powdered Mandrake root to the salve."
Snape's expression changed.
Only he and Filch knew the details of the injury. How had a first-year seen through it?
Harry and Ron stared at Lucian in disbelief.
"You disgust me with your arrogance, Ashford," Snape said through clenched teeth.
But he did not deduct points.
Because the formula was correct.
Snape studied Lucian carefully before turning and walking away, dragging his injured leg behind him.
"Merlin," Ron whispered once he was gone. "How did you know it was the three-headed dog?"
"Logic, Weasley."
Lucian stepped closer to the trio.
His gaze rested briefly on Harry, whose face clearly said I knew it was Snape.
"Sometimes what you see isn't the truth," Lucian said quietly. "Especially when someone wants you to see it."
He glanced toward a window on the second floor.
Professor Quirrell stood there, his purple turban visible even from a distance.
"Don't waste your time on the wrong suspect."
Lucian left them with that sentence and walked toward the library.
The three of them stood silently.
"He's defending Snape?" Harry muttered. "He's probably on the Slytherin side."
Hermione watched Lucian disappear down the corridor.
Wrong suspect.
Once, she would have argued immediately. But now the seed of doubt had begun to grow.
"Maybe," Hermione said quietly, her words almost lost in the wind, "we really did misunderstand something.
__________
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